


Small Town Hero

by abstractconcept



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gay Marriage, M/M, bottom!Steve, mentions of bigotry, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Phil are your average small town dads—except, of course, that one of them is the celebrated Captain America and the other is an unsung national hero. Steve would like Phil to get the recognition he deserves . . . and he wouldn't mind if Phil was around to take out the trash more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Town Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to both Adele_Sparks and Isisanubis for the beta!

Phil Coulson’s Acura slid into the driveway. He would have liked to park in the garage, but as the door lifted, he saw Danny’s bike in his spot. He sighed, stopped the car, and got out. He was just returning from a three-day business trip, but he had no luggage to unpack. Agent Coulson had long ago learned to travel light and S.H.I.E.L.D. was good about having what he needed ready. 

Phil unlocked the front door. “I’m home,” he sang out. 

“Kitchen!” Steve called back. 

Phil could already tell. He could smell fresh bread baking, and other stuff too – maybe a casserole or something. Steve loved to have dinner ready when he knew Phil would be home. It smelled so good that Phil couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed in bliss; he thought he might float into the kitchen, following the wafting scent of delicious food, just like in one of those old cartoons. Phil smiled. 

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires and a crash. “Awwww, _man!_ ”

Phil hung his coat in the hall closet and went into the living room where, sure enough, Danny was absorbed in a video game. There was a bag of chips, nearly empty, beside him. 

“How long have you been playing that?” Phil asked sternly. 

“Aw, dad, come on. Don’t start in the minute you walk in the door.” Dan quickly grabbed the chips and clipped the top. He knew he wasn’t supposed to eat junk like that, but Steve tended to be more lax about food when Phil wasn’t around. Phil knew Steve never, ever wanted their son to want for anything, especially food. 

“Turn off the game and get some fresh air,” Phil ordered. And it _was_ an order. Phil had any years of experience in getting people to do as he said, and if Tony Stark wasn’t a match for him, no thirteen-year-old boy ever would be. Especially if that boy also happened to be raised by the courteous and disciplined Steve Rogers. 

“Yes, sir.” Dan got up. He was a lanky kid with sandy-blond hair that stuck straight up at the back and had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He flicked off the TV and dutifully gave Phil a quick kiss on the cheek before putting his snacks away.

He managed to look only a little sulky during the process.

Phil followed him into the kitchen, where Steve was cheerfully making a huge mess. 

“Wow, and I thought New York looked bad after the aliens hit,” Phil joked. 

Steve stuck out his tongue, but after he had the casserole in the oven, he came over to give Phil a hug–and get him covered with flour. “Missed you,” he huffed in Phil’s ear. He kissed Phil’s neck. 

Dan, who was at the age where public displays of affection between his parents were worse than witnessing a gruesome death, promptly groaned, “ _Gross._ Oh, yuck. I’m going over to Rob’s until dinner’s ready.”

“You move your bike out of my spot first,” Phil told him. “I’ve told you a hundred times not to leave it there. One of these days I’m going to run over it and it will damage my car. Then not only will you have to find a way to pay for the repairs on the car, you’ll be out one bike – because I’m not buying another one when you can’t show you’ll take care of this one.”

“Oh, _dad,_ ” Dan groaned. Phil gave him a look. Finally, when Phil crossed his arms over his chest to let Dan know things were _very_ serious, the boy heaved a sigh and gave in. “Yes, sir. I need my bike to get to Rob’s anyway.”

“Dinner is at six and don’t you be one second late,” Steve put in. 

“I won’t! Sheesh!” Danny tromped out into the garage and slammed the door behind him.

“Was he this bad the whole time I was gone?” Phil wondered. 

Steve smiled. “Not really. I think he’s just testing boundaries. And I think . . .” Steve trailed off. 

“You think?” Phil prompted absently. He was trying to brush the flour off his Armani pants. Damn, why was it a trip home always meant a stop at the dry cleaner? Even aliens didn’t have such an impact on his wardrobe. 

“Nothing.” Steve went back to stirring, the back of his neck pink. 

Uh-oh. Phil could count on one hand the number of times Steve got upset, really upset about something, and right now he was raising all kinds of red flags – changing the subject, turning his back, the reddening of the back of his neck, his reluctance to talk about it . . . on any other person, it wouldn’t mean much, if anything, but Phil was familiar with the signs. Steve was a great fighter, a good leader, and an excellent communicator. But when it came to intimate relationships? He still had his rough spots. Luckily, Phil knew how to get around those. 

He walked over to Steve and put his arms around the man’s waist, face buried in the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure what for, but it was a good bet and couldn’t hurt. 

Immediately, he felt the tension ease. “He was disappointed you missed his big game,” Steve told him quietly. “He made a home run and everything.”

Phil felt his stomach clench with regret. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll make it up to him.”

Steve pushed Phil away and turned to face him. Yikes, this wasn’t trouble, this was _big_ trouble. “How? You weren’t here – it’s done. It’s – it’s one of those memories you have or you don’t, you know?” Steve sighed. He lowered his head, his brow slightly knotted. “It’s not just the game, Phil. You’re gone a _lot._ ”

“I know.” Phil wasn’t sure what he could do about that. It was just the nature of the business. You didn’t need to bring out the big guns all that often, but you _did_ need someone who could handle the day-to-day problems. Steve was the big gun. Phil was the little guy. The little guy didn’t get much glory but he always had a steady workflow. Phil wondered if the problem wasn’t partly that Steve didn’t have enough to do. He loved being a dad, Phil knew that, but sometimes you needed something a little bigger. 

“You never go to any of his stuff,” Steve complained. “There’s the P.T.A., the Scouts, the plays, the games . . .”

“You know I have a serious and legitimate objection to the Scouts.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Is that your only defense? There are lots of other things you could be part of.”

Phil sighed. Steve was right; he did miss a lot. “I just get busy.” Rubbing the back of his neck he added quietly, “Honestly, I’m just not very good with the – with the social stuff.” Things had been harder than he expected in that regard. People loved Steve – a bona fide hero in the neighborhood? Hey, great! Wait, he’s _gay_ and married to this really boring old stiff? . . . Not so great. The same people who fell all over Steve were awkward around Phil. The housewives who fluttered their eyelashes at Captain America only glared at _him_. They resented him for stealing the hunk. And though they were mostly accepted, Phil suspected that a thin veneer over a bubbling cauldron of homophobia made the community that much more uncomfortable around him. When Steve showed up alone, they could pretend he was normal. Phil was an unwanted reminder that things were changing. It would have been easier in a big city, but both Phil and Steve had wanted that small town feel–and they both knew there would be drawbacks to that. 

“I just wish you’d put in more of an effort,” Steve said. He went to the sink and washed off his hands. 

“All right.” 

Steve looked up. His blue eyes were hopeful. “There’s a carnival coming up this weekend. To raise money for gym renovations. I was going to bake something.”

Phil shrugged. “I’ll go, but you know I can’t bake.”

“You could do your chili,” Steve suggested. “A lot of the guys around here like your chili.”

Phil looked at Steve. He liked his earnestness, his warmth, his simple values: be kind to others, don’t tolerate wrong-doing, try your best. Phil smiled. Steve and Danny were worth a couple of hours hanging around making small talk and watching the local housewives swoon over his husband. “Chili it is, then.” 

Steve beamed. He grabbed Phil’s waist and pulled him close. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed him. As much as he loved Steve’s down-home, country values, Phil liked his steamy-hot, sophisticated kisses more. Phil moaned softly, reaching down to cup Steve’s –

“Oh, _jeez_ , are you two _still_ going at it?” a voice complained from the kitchen door. 

The men broke apart. “I thought you were going over to Rob’s.”

“He had chores.” Dan must have realized what he said the moment he said it, because he got a look on his face like he knew what was coming next. 

“What a good idea,” Steve told him. He smiled. “Things have really built up with your father gone. The two of you can give me a hand with a few things before dinner.”

Dan groaned. 

Steve pointed to the trashcan. “Take out the garbage, please,” he said in a pleasant voice.

“Yes, sir,” Dan sighed. 

“And you can take care of the lawn,” Steve informed Phil.

Phil knew better than to groan or pout or sigh. He just saluted.

oOoOoOo

Phil got the front lawn done, then called Danny over. “You want to mow the back?” he said.

The boy shifted from one foot to the other. Phil could see him weighing his options. Mowing meant tedious work, but at the same time, Steve didn’t often let him use the lawn mower. He felt it was too dangerous. It was only in the last year he’d been allowed to use it. It was part chore, part rite of passage. 

“If you finish it up before dinner we can play some catch,” Phil offered. 

Dan shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” 

Phil went inside and grabbed a beer. “What?” he said in response to the look Steve gave him. “It’s hot out.”

“Don’t let him use that thing unsupervised,” was all Steve said. 

Phil smiled. “I know. I was planning on going right back out.” He went and sat on the back porch, glad for the awning that gave a little shade. Dan was meticulous, careful to line up the rows exactly and not miss a single blade of grass. Phil hid a smile. That attention to detail wouldn’t last. The boy would soon be bored. 

Sure enough, about halfway through, Phil heard the motor die. Dan looked over at him, sweaty and petulant. “Dad,” he said, a whine in his voice. “It’s hot. Can’t I take a break?”

Phil surveyed the lawn. He really didn’t want to get back out there. “Any job worth doing . . .” he prompted. 

Rolling his eyes, Danny replied, “Is worth doing right,” albeit in a goofy voice. “God, it’s like I’m living in a bad episode of _Leave It to Beaver_.”

Phil ignored the blasphemy (Steve was very, very strict about that, but Phil didn’t mind) and grinned. “Could be worse. Better than _The Walking Dead_ ,” he countered. 

“Are you _kidding!?_ That would be _awesome!_ Then I could use the lawn mower to kill _zombies!_ ” Danny looked at the machine with renewed appreciation. “I bet with some adjustments it could be the best zombie-killing weapon ever!”

Phil laughed. “Just pretend the lawn is an army of zombies, then.” 

Dan only shrugged, but he started up the mower again with more enthusiasm. Phil hid a grin. Cold beer, hot day, fresh-mown lawn, looking forward to a game of catch with his kid . . . Home had its perks. 

“Phil! You’re back. How you doing?”

Phil looked over to see his neighbor, Ted Prescott, leaning on the fence. And eyeing his beer, naturally. “Good. I’m good.”

“Good sales trip?” No one knew the real nature of his job. Bad enough that people recognized Steve. 

“Can’t complain.” 

“You drinking a Coors?”

Phil tried not to smile. “You know it. Want one?”

“Wouldn’t say no.” Ted came over and Phil ducked inside and grabbed another couple of beers with only a minor disapproving glance from Steve. “Hey, thanks,” Ted said when he returned, popping the can open. He nodded to Danny. “How’d you do that, anyway? I tell Joey to mow the lawn and he gives me a crazy lecture about how capitalism is killing the country or some shit.” Ted’s boy was an older teen, a wannabe activist who couldn’t quite nail down a cause.

“I’m sure he’ll grow out of it,” Phil told him. “And then mine will grow into it, and I’ll have to come to you for advice.”

Ted laughed. “ _I_ wouldn’t take my advice! You ask my wife; I’m the cause of the weeds in the lawn, the kid acting up _and_ the state of the national economy.”

“Ah. I’m just an absent, irresponsible working stiff who neglects my kid,” Phil replied dryly. 

“You too, huh?” Ted took a long pull from his beer. “Guess even superheroes nag,” he said, chuckling.

Phil made a non-committal noise. He knew he was lucky with Steve; Ted’s wife Brittany would have been a much more difficult partner. Not only was she the main ‘Jones’ the neighborhood tried to keep up with, she was also a raging gossip and a proponent of the theory that homosexuality was a sickness. Not that it stopped her from flirting with Steve. Ted was okay, though. “Things could always be worse,” Phil said philosophically. 

“Yeah. At least our kids aren’t real troublemakers,” Ted noted. “Bill Peterson’s kid broke into the school and stole a couple of computers. And some kid snatched Rita Thompson’s purse right off her arm – at the Lutheran Church Summer Festival! Kids these days–little bastards, I tell ya.” 

For a fleeting moment, Phil felt a frisson of fear–he’d thought this was a safe place to raise a family! But it melted away as he remembered Steve. He probably had the most well-protected house in the state. And their alarm system had been designed by Tony Stark, to boot. 

“Did they catch the guy?” he asked all the same. 

Ted wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Nope. The brat must’ve had balls of steel, trying that sort of thing right in the middle of a crowd of people, but he got away clean. Just some young punk. I tell ya, I’m glad to have you guys as neighbors. And not just because of the free beer,” Ted said with a laugh. 

Finally Danny turned off the lawnmower and trotted over to Phil. “I’m finished. Are we playing catch, now?” He wiped an arm across his sweaty face. 

“Sure. Just put the mower back in the garage and grab the mitts and stuff.”

Ted shook his head as Danny obeyed, pausing only to turn on the hose to drink from it for a minute. “Catch! You play catch with the kid? Christ, my kid’s idea of a good time is a discussion about Marxism.”

Phil smiled. “Play along,” he advised. “Agree with everything he says and he’ll stop thinking it’s so cool. Or at least it’ll give you an activity to do together.” 

Ted clapped him on the back. “Maybe I’ll try that. My wife would have a heart attack. I love it. Anyway, I should get back. Thanks for the beer.”

“Any time.” Phil set his beer aside as Dan ran up with the gloves. “Hey, Danny, how come you never want to toss the ball around with Steve?” 

“It’s _Dan_ , not Danny. I’m not a little kid anymore,” the boy informed him. “And Pop throws too hard.”

“Right, right.” Phil wasn’t sure he believed this; Steve was a strong guy, but he had self-control. But the other option was that the kid enjoyed playing catch with Phil but was too ‘grown up’ to say it without being embarrassed, and that was fine. 

They tossed the ball back and forth. The sun was starting to go down. It felt good to have a little exercise, one that didn’t involve firing guns. And it was nice to be outdoors. They had a large yard, a few trees for shade, but plenty of room for a game of catch. The suburbs were like another planet; cool and shaded and normal. Pure Americana at its finest. Phil simultaneously felt absolutely at peace and totally out of place. 

“Everything good in school?” Phil asked. 

“Yeah.”

“No problems with anything?”

“Nope.”

“Do okay on your math test?”

“Uh-huh.”

It was routine non-talk, just the usual bonding they did over nothing much. Phil sometimes wondered if the boy had deeper conversations with Steve, but he doubted it. Dan was your typically monosyllabic teenage boy. 

“How was the game?”

Dan shrugged. _Ouch._

“Hear you hit it out of the park.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great.”

“I guess.”

Phil caught the ball and tossed it back. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

Another shrug.

Still in the doghouse. “You upset with me?”

“Naw.”

“You know I didn’t want to miss it.”

“Yes, dad.” The ball went a little wide, but Dan caught it easily. He really was good. Phil wondered if he’d play professionally someday. The idea excited him. 

He watched Dan’s eyes narrow as he focused on trying to throw a curve ball. He had Steve’s eyes – blue eyes. They’d used a surrogate, but both agreed Steve would be the one to donate. It just felt right. Most of the time the two of them didn’t really seem that similar – not with Dan in his lanky, awkward stage – but once in a while the light would hit the kid just right, and Phil could see the man he’d become. He was so proud of that boy he hardly had words to describe it. Sometimes he just sort of stared and grinned until Dan asked him to stop because it was, he said, “mortifying.” Phil just couldn’t believe he was so lucky. “I’ll be at the next one, I promise,” he said.

“Yeah, right.” Dan scowled at that, and it nearly made Phil laugh. It was a version of Steve’s face, but Steve had never sulked a day in his life. He could brood or steam or look quietly wounded, but sulking was out.

“I will,” Phil insisted. “I’ll be there.”

“Whatever.” Dan rolled his eyes. 

Phil stopped the game for a moment so the kid would understand he was serious. “You know I love you.”

“ _Daaaa-ad._ Not outside, okay?”

This time Phil did laugh. “Okay,” he agreed. Dan threw the ball and it _smacked_ into the glove. “Nice one.”

Dan shrugged again, smiling a little. 

Phil got a twitchy feeling in his back, like someone was looking at him. He half turned and saw Steve watching from the back window, smiling. When he caught Phil’s eye, he gave a little wave and flicked the curtain shut. 

Phil returned his concentration to the ball and his boy. 

It really was nice to be home.

oOoOoOo

“It’s hot in here.”

“Well, open the window and turn on the fan.” 

Phil got out of bed and did just that. It was a balmy summer night. “I’ll work on the air conditioner tomorrow,” he promised. 

Steve smiled, not looking up from his magazine. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you saying I’m unreliable?”

Steve set the magazine aside and gave him a look. “When it comes to fighting bad guys, you are the best. The absolute best. When it comes to fixing the AC when you say you will, you are not exactly among the top ten.”

Phil stood in front of the open window, enjoying the cool breeze. He grinned at Steve. “Nope, you’re not catching me with a guilt trip. If you want the AC fixed so badly, you’re perfectly capable of fixing it yourself.”

Steve blinked, blue eyes innocent as a baby’s. “Well, if you _want_ me messing around with the thing and burning the house down. . .”

“I’ll work on it tomorrow. I promise.” Steve still wasn’t fooling anyone though; he enjoyed working on cars, and Phil knew the air conditioner was not beyond his skills. But if he wanted Phil to do it, Phil would do it. He slid into bed beside Steve. 

“Thank you,” Steve said. 

“Nothing is too good for you,” Phil joked. 

Despite the sultry, sticky air, Steve trundled over and slid his arm around Phil’s waist. “It was nice seeing you and Danny tonight. You guys need to spend more time together.”

“It’s Dan, not _Danny_ ,” Phil told him loftily. “You’re so out of touch.”

Steve laughed and kissed his shoulder. “We should go shopping tomorrow. For the bake sale, and the chili and all that.”

Phil suppressed a sigh. “Dan didn’t seem that upset about me missing his game.”

Steve was still nuzzling his shoulder. “He wouldn’t say so, would he? But it matters to _me_ that you go to this stuff more often, too.”

Phil rolled over to face Steve. “Does it? Why? You know they don’t like me.”

“That’s because they don’t _know_ you.” Steve flopped back against the pillows and looked at him helplessly. “If you’d give them a chance . . . if they knew you like I do, they’d be crazy about you. You just come off so – so –”

“Old,” Phil supplied. 

Steve looked surprised. “What?”

“They don’t like that a guy twice your age – well, a guy who _looks_ twice your age – is shacked up with Captain America like he’s some kind of boytoy.” Phil knew what they all thought. Compared to Steve, he must seem ancient and creepy, lusting after a gorgeous stud like Steve. 

Steve blinked. “Aw, that’s just Brittany Prescott. Don’t listen to her; nobody listens to her.”

Phil sighed. 

“Anyway, I wasn’t going to say _old_. I was going to say _aloof_. Cold. You have this way of looking at people that makes them think that if they put a foot out of line they’re in for a cavity search.”

That was true enough. It was a facial expression Phil had cultivated over long years as an agent and had served him well. He wasn’t aware he’d been doing it at the neighbors, though. He looked up at the ceiling fan and gave this some consideration. 

“Just . . . make an attempt at being friendly,” Steve begged. “For my sake.”

“All right,” Phil relented. How could he say no to Steve? The man had him wrapped around his masculine little finger. 

“Promise?” Steve looked hopeful.

Phil ticked the oaths off on his fingers. “Dan’s next little league game, fix the AC, chili for the bake sale, play nice . . . no problem,” he assured Steve. “I can do that. I will do that. For you.”

Steve’s face softened, and something rose within Phil. “I know you will,” he whispered. 

Phil studied Steve’s face. For all that he supported Steve, Steve believed in him as well. Phil reached out and stroked his jaw. “I love you,” he said. 

Steve gave him one of those brilliant smiles and spread his arms. “Come here.”

They made love with languid slowness, drawing out kisses and caresses and making every salty-sweet moment last as long as possible. Phil reflected that it was a far cry from their first time when Steve hadn’t known the clutch from the gear shift, as it were. But Steve was no longer a blushing bride (which was what Tony had taken to calling him) and Phil was no longer a starry-eyed fan, and while they had passed out of the fiery-hot stage of infatuation, their love burned long and warm. 

Steve was still amazingly flexible, though. Phil moved one of his legs, pulling it up over his shoulder. Steve groaned, his hand stroking his own prick. Phil thrust again and again. He watched Steve’s face, absorbed; he loved the way Steve’s lips parted, his silent cries of pleasure, the way his eyelashes trembled as Phil fucked him. 

“So good,” Phil whispered, reaching down to stroke Steve’s face. 

Steve wavered a smile, then slipped his leg off Phil’s shoulder. He reached up, dug his hand into Phil’s hair and dragged him down into a hungry kiss. 

“Oh. _God_ ,” Phil moaned as Steve continued to kiss his face, his neck, his shoulder. “Oh fuck–oh _Steve_.”

Steve laughed softly at this. Shy by nature, he’d been alternately amazed and amused by his innate ability to turn Phil into a stammering mess. 

Phil responded by thrusting harder, enjoying the firm, tight body beneath him. 

Steve moaned, arching. His eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowed. “Phil,” he grunted. He bit his lip as he came. 

Phil watched his face breathlessly. He never could look at that mouth without feeling a longing to kiss it. Steve obediently allowed Phil to kiss him deeply as he fucked him. Phil loved the feel of Steve’s sweat-slick body against his own, and it wasn’t long before he felt his balls tighten, his own orgasm rippling through him. 

Afterward, Steve looked up at him, content and almost angelic in the afterglow, his eyes lidded and eyelashes impossibly long, his face flushed. Phil gave him a crooked smile, feeling ridiculously smug that he could make Steve look like that. 

“Love you,” Steve said sleepily. 

“I’m so glad to be home,” Phil replied, kissing him. 

And he meant it, too.

oOoOoOo

“This isn’t too hot, is it?” Mrs. Prescott was staring at the pot with a faint look of distaste on her face.

“Hell yes, it’s hot,” Phil retorted. 

He saw Steve turn away quickly to hide a smile. 

“Gimme an extra big bowl,” Ted said, slapping down some money. 

Phil ladled it out with a feeling of gratitude toward the large man. He only felt sorry Ted was saddled with such a pill of a wife. “Here you go,” he said. “Four alarm, just the way you like it.” 

Brittany Prescott sniffed. “I’ll just have some of Steve’s _lovely_ cornbread,” she said with a syrupy smile. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a little bowl of chili with that?” Steve inquired, putting an arm around Phil. Phil watched the woman’s face sort of go limp around the frozen smile. “It’s really great with the chili.”

Phil’s smile was genuine. “The perfect accompaniment, sweetheart,” he agreed, giving Steve a peck on the cheek. 

“No, thank you,” Mrs. Prescott said icily, and flounced off trailing expensive perfume all the way. 

“You want some chili, Joey?” Ted asked his kid. 

“Yeah.” So this was the rabble-rouser, eh? Joey was almost as tall as Phil, but rail thin. Phil imagined this was what his son would probably look like in a few years – hair dyed black, all shaggy and in his eyes, nose pierced, and black fingernails. “Sounds good,” the boy said. 

“Great. It’ll put hair on your chest,” Phil promised, silently adding that it probably wouldn’t match the stuff on his head. “How many alarms?”

“Are you kidding? The hotter the better.” 

“There you go. Five bucks.” Phil handed Joey a steaming bowl of chili.

“I’ll give you another five if you kiss Steve in front of my mom again.”

Phil stared at him. 

The kid grinned impishly. Phil re-categorized the boy in his head from budding political dissident to possible future ally. He seemed to enjoy irritating his mother as much as his mother enjoyed irritating Phil. 

“Deal,” Phil said. 

Ted choked on his chili. 

“What?” Joey said. “It’s for a good cause, and it pisses Mom off.”

Ted shrugged and added a five to Joey’s. Phil put it with the rest of the money for the gym renovations. 

“You shouldn’t do things to upset your mom,” Steve chastised weakly. 

“I’m not doing it to upset my mom,” Joey said after swallowing a bite of chili. “Upsetting my mom’s just a bonus. I’m doing it so the jocks can have their new gym, and support my favorite local LGBT peeps.”

“Well . . . thank you,” Steve said, apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. 

Just then, Dan popped up. “Dad, can I have some money to buy more tickets?” 

“How much have you gone through already?”

“Oh, come on! Just a few bucks. I just want to dunk Principal Anderson.” 

Phil frowned. “I’d have to hit the ATM,” he mumbled, looking to Steve. 

Steve grinned. “Go ahead. You two hang out for awhile. I can hold down the fort.” He put out another sheet of cornbread. 

Phil shrugged. “Okay,” he said to Dan. “Let’s go see if you can hit anything. I’ll get to see your throwing arm and give pointers.”

oOoOoOo

Dan’s arm was good. By the time Phil had gone through twenty bucks, Dick Anderson was completely sodden and sputtering, and a small crowd had gathered around them.

“Burn it in there,” Phil urged. “Just put it right over the plate.”

Dan did not say anything. He narrowed his eyes, tugged on the bill of his baseball cap, and threw the ball. He allowed himself a small smile at the resultant splash. 

“Attaboy!” Phil crowed. 

The crowd was chattering and clapping, letting out the occasional whistle. “Who’s that kid?”

“That’s Steve Rogers’ kid.”

“ _Captain America’s_ kid.”

“Like father, like son!”

A red-haired woman stood beside Phil, watching. She reeked of cigarette smoke, but she was very pretty in a flowered sundress, a matching pink Chanel purse on her arm. “If he’s lucky, he’ll grow up to look like his dad, too,” she joked. 

Phil smiled blandly. It was obvious she didn’t know him from Adam. How would she? He was never around. 

“Too bad his dad’s not into girls,” she said with a sigh.

Phil gave the woman a pointed look. “And married.”

She only shrugged, one corner of her lip lifting lazily into a smirk. So much for holy matrimony. 

“Come on, kid, one more! Make it an even ten!” someone in the crowd urged. 

Dan looked back to Phil for approval, and at Phil’s nod, he straightened and wound up. He lobbed the ball at the target, but the ball went wide and bounced harmlessly off the mesh along the side. Principal Anderson looked mighty relieved, his wet mustache quivering. A soft but sympathetic groan went up from the crowd as Dan’s shoulders slumped. 

“That’s okay,” someone told him.

“Yeah, good job.”

Dan turned to Phil with a shrug. “My arm’s tired,” he admitted. 

“That’s okay, you did good. Rest it a day and you’ll be good as new,” Phil promised. He removed Dan’s cap and ruffled his sandy hair, ignoring the boy’s scowl. Phil felt someone brush past him, going at a fast clip, and suddenly his S.H.I.E.L.D. instincts went off like a car alarm. He spun just in time to see the redhead shriek. 

“My purse!” The crowd reacted instantly, by instinct, hands grabbing at the fleeing man.

Phil didn’t react by instinct. He _never_ reacted by instinct anymore. An instant reaction could be a death sentence when you were dealing with people like Loki. You needed to evaluate. You needed to make sure you weren’t missing anything. You gave yourself that one second, because otherwise it would be your last second. 

That’s why Phil saw the knife. 

“ _KNIFE!_ ” someone roared, and Phil didn’t know until someone told him later that it was actually him. He never remembered saying it. He only remembered feeling a cold burst of fear in his gut, then hot anger. But his training taught him to suppress that, to deal with the facts and not the feelings. 

Ted, who’d grabbed hold of the guy, jumped back quick. 

“Hey!” Phil yelled. 

The guy took one wild look at him and took off running again. He kicked out at a table as he passed, apparently in some rookie assumption that it would knock the thing over behind him and impede his pursuer. Instead it tripped him up as well. It also sent cornbread and chili tumbling over, since he’d managed to clip Steve and Phil’s kiosk. 

“My cornbread!” Steve cried in dismay. He managed to save one tray from sliding to the ground. 

Phil grabbed the thief’s arm and spun him around. The blade flashed out and Phil backed up a step. He had just an instant to see the guy’s face – young, a kid, scared and stupid – and _then_ he let instinct – and training – take over. 

The kid lashed out, Phil stepped aside. He smashed the guy in the nose, knocking him off balance. A step, a spin, and Phil sent him sprawling . . . a quick twist of the guy’s arm and the knife clattered to the street. “Weapon!” he sang out to let Ted know to keep the kids away from it. He wrenched one of the thief’s arms behind his back, then the other. He had him pinned good now. “Get me something to restrain him with,” he barked. 

The crowd shifted and everyone looked at each other. “Mildred Walker’s selling knitted scarves!” someone shouted. 

In moments, a guy trotted up and handed one to Phil. Phil promptly used it to hogtie the guy, hoping it didn’t have too much give. He felt he’d tied it pretty tight, though. As he stood, surveying his handiwork with professional pride, he slowly became aware that everyone was looking at him with awe. 

Phil felt his face start to heat up. So much for his milquetoast travelling salesman cover. “Did anyone alert the police?”

“On their way,” Ted said. 

“Wow,” Joey added. He looked from the prone kid on the ground to Phil and back again. “ _Wow,_ ” he repeated. 

“You were _wonderful!_ ” someone else said, and he turned just in time for the redhead to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him hard. 

Phil struggled to push her away. Now his face was _really_ hot. “I–I–you’re welcome.”

“My hero,” she purred, moving away to pick up her purse.

“Married hero,” he mumbled. 

“Wow, dad! That was crazy!” Dan burst in. 

Ted huffed. “If you hadn’t yelled about the knife, maybe I’d have gotten that kiss,” he said in an undertone, nudging Phil with an elbow. 

“Are you nuts?” Joey put in. “If Mr. Coulson hadn’t yelled about the knife, you’d be filleted like a fish right now!”

“Oh, _Teddy!_ ” Phil turned in time to see a weepy Brittany Prescott throw herself at her husband. 

Phil stepped away from the chaos, absently using his sleeve to wipe away the redhead’s lipstick. What a fundraiser. He turned and caught Steve’s eye. Steve grinned. 

Dan was still talking a mile a minute. “And then he was all, ‘ _Whiz_ ,’ and you were all, ‘Bam!’ and he was like, ‘ _Jab_ ,’ and you went, ‘ _Twist! Bang! Slam!_ ’” Dan was reenacting the whole thing with gestures and sound effects. He paused. “Will you show me how to do that?” he asked, eyes all lit up. 

“Sure.” Phil gave a wobbly smile and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. To think someone had gotten that close to his son with a knife! “It’s always good to have an understanding of self-defense techniques.”

“Cool.”

People were streaming over now, patting Phil on the back, thanking him, congratulating him, praising him. “That was really something, Mr. C.,” Joey said, and offered him another five dollar bill. 

“Keep it,” Phil said. “That one was on the house.”

Finally the cops showed up and dragged the perp away. Phil hoped his youth might mean he was still malleable. Maybe being beat up by a middle-aged salesman would cause him to think twice about trying it again. After he’d been taken away, the crowd started to thin out. 

Phil returned Mildred’s scarf (“I’m going to auction it off in the next fundraiser! Now it’s famous!” she’d trilled) and helped Steve clean up the mess with the chili and the broken table. They’d sent Dan off with the Prescotts to have dinner and play xbox with Joey, and hopefully calm down.

“Well, that was exciting,” Steve commented, still grinning. 

“As always, two seconds of excitement left a huge mess,” Phil grumbled. 

Steve laughed. 

Phil dumped a whole bunch of paper towels in the trash, and as he straightened he felt Steve’s arm slip around his waist. “You did good,” Steve murmured, and kissed his ear. 

Phil smiled. “Yeah?” He looked out over the neighborhood, serene but for bursts of children laughing beneath the last red blush of the sky as it faded to shadowed twilight. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. He hugged Phil tight, and Phil let him. They stood that way a long moment, just enjoying the cool evening breeze ruffling their hair, the scent of freshly-mown grass, the good mellow feeling that came with feeling safe and loved. 

Phil let the mixed feelings of the day start to settle. They’d moved here because they liked the neighborhood, but he’d never really felt a part of it. It had been _the_ neighborhood. But the moment he’d heard the scream, things had changed. When he’d seen the guy with the knife, all those innocent people around him, Phil had felt it – not in _my_ neighborhood. 

It was quite the switch. 

He was viewing everything differently, and people would view him differently, too. He glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye. “So why didn’t you tackle the guy?”

Steve’s expression was hard to read in the fading light. “Didn’t need to. You had him.”

Phil turned this over in his mind. “And . . . everything’s okay? You’re not upset that I, er, stole your thunder?”

Steve laughed softly. “Are you kidding? I’m overjoyed. Maybe they’ll give me a break and _you_ can sign all the damn autographs for awhile.”

Phil turned. “You’re _happy_ about this,” he noted, amused. “Do you get a jolt from your poor, overworked husband having to leap on and restrain inept purse thieves in addition to his regular duties of mowing the lawn and taking out the garbage?”

“Naw.” Steve looked at him affectionately. “I’m just glad that for once the whole neighborhood saw exactly what I see whenever I look at you.”

“And what is that?” Phil murmured.

Phil felt Steve’s warm hand reach up to cup his face. “A good, brave, selfless guy just as worthy of accolades as I am,” Steve said, and kissed him softly.

Phil wrapped his arms around Steve and let himself enjoy the embrace of a summer’s night, the neighborhood, and the man of his dreams. 

It really was good to be home.


End file.
